Classics and the Western Canon discussion

The Eliot discussion will, I’m sure, continue for awhile under Laurel’s excellent leadership, but it’s time also to relax a bit with our next Interim Read.

One of the first adult books I took down from the family bookshelves lo those many (many, many) years ago was a book of essays by E.B. White. I loved them then, and have loved him ever since. I used him quite a bit in my teaching not only as the co-author of The Elements of Style but also as an example of how to write serious thoughts in simple and direct language.

You may well have come across his essay “Once More to the Lake” in an English class (as my students did), but that was years, in some cases quite a few years, ago, and it’s well worth revisiting. (And if you happen not to have read it before for school or pleasure, you have the delight of encountering it fresh.)

It’s such a simply and beautifully written essay but with a message that must resonate with every parent. In my case it resonates even more strongly, because my family, too, went to a lake in Maine every summer where my grandparents owned a farm with a cottage for us-–a lake only about ten miles away from the lake White’s family went to. Much of the life he describes is exactly what we did, too. But even if you didn’t have that specific experience, you may well have had your own family tradition, and perhaps one you shared across generations.

The only copy of the essay I could find online has a few study questions at the end, but those aren’t part of the Interim Read. Though if you find them useful go ahead and address them.

Here’s the URL for the essay:
http://bcs.bedfordstmartins.com/every...

When I was in high school I wrote to a local journalist whose work I admired and asked him what advice he might have for an aspiring young writer. He sent me an encouraging reply along with a copy of the Elements of Style. I added it to the two other copies that I already had on my shelf, but the copy he gave me is the one I still have today. It's probably time I read it again.

This essay is so interesting because at first it sounds like it's going to be a slightly maudlin and sentimental journey into the past, something like a Norman Rockwell picture, but it gradually develops a sense of foreboding that is sort of the opposite of sentimentality. White appears to idealize his youth, as I suppose most of us do, until the small details about the present start to pile up -- the third track that has disappeared, the difference in the sound of modern boat motors, and how creepy and confusing it feels to be in the role of a father while he is still seeing the lake as the boy he was -- and the chill of death overcomes him. The Norman Rockwell painting has turned into an episode of the Twilight Zone.

A wonderful essay. I suppose I still have Eliot's struggle with time in Four Quartets on my mind, but it seems to me that there is a similar struggle going on in White's essay.

Beautifully said, Thomas.

It also seemed to me he was struggling with memory. What was real and what was not? Like Thomas said, at first the trip seemed to confirm his memories from childhood. But later, the trip seems to defy memory. Then the experience seem strangely to converge With a sense of confirmation and death.

E.B. White's stepson, Roger Angell, wrote a moving and powerful piece on aging in the New Yorker a couple of years ago. It is not my intent to highjack discussion of White's own, beautiful essay. However, if group members have not seen this, you may find it an interesting companion piece.

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/201...

Genni wrote: "It also seemed to me he was struggling with memory. What was real and what was not? Like Thomas said, at first the trip seemed to confirm his memories from childhood. But later, the trip seems to d..."

In his introduction to his collection "The Second Tree From The Corner," White says he is over 50 and, as is every man of that age, he is convinced he is only 20 minutes from death. He ends the intro by saying he has cast out a few farewells, but like a drunk at a wedding, has no intention of leaving. He died in 1972; do you think he felt the chill of death in every wet bathing suit, 20 minutes away for all those years? The original nook was copyrighted in'35, but mentions that notes from Chapter 3 formed his and Katherine's 1941 introduction to A Treasure of American Humor. I don't know when this essay was written, I've forgotten, but that's a long time to feel the cold shadow approaching!

Zeke wrote: "E.B. White's stepson, Roger Angell, wrote a moving and powerful piece on aging in the New Yorker a couple of years ago. It is not my intent to highjack discussion of White's own, beautiful essay. ..."

So wonderful! Thank you.

Ellen wrote: "do you think he felt the chill of death in every wet bathing suit"

Ah, yes, that wet bathing suit. I don't know whether everybody here has at least once in their lives had to put on a cold, wet bathing suit, but it's a memory of my childhood that I would be happy never to have had. Now a days we stick the bathing suits in the dryer as soon as we're done swimming, but in those days electric dryers were a rarity, and we certainly didn't have one in the cabin in Maine, and hanging the suits up on the line didn't help that much since we would swim almost until bedtime and then go down for a pre-breakfast dip so they didn't have time to dry.

(I know, get multiple bathing suits. But those were the days of frugality, and multiple bathing suits for a kid who would outgrow them at the end of the summer wasn't in the cards.)

Everyman wrote: "Ellen wrote: "do you think he felt the chill of death in every wet bathing suit"

Ah, yes, that wet bathing suit. I don't know whether everybody here has at least once in their lives had to put on..."

Yes. But the pathos of the current essay aside, isn't the thought of the wet bathing suit on the tender parts (insert the "b" word) absolutely hysterical as a metaphor for death? White could be personally very serious and erudite and even chastising (as in his letters with Nabokov), but he essentially was a truly wry and funny man to the very bone.

Edit: I wonder if Thurber was alive to read that metaphor? If so, he would never let White forget it, is my thought.

I have since become a salt-water man, but
sometimes in summer there are days when the restlessness of the tides and the
fearful cold of the sea water and the incessant wind which blows across the afternoon
and into the evening make me wish for the placidity of a lake in the woods.

Thoreau is another writer for whom the contrast between lake (pond) and ocean is important. For him the ocean was a terrifying contrast to the lessons of Walden Pond. Among other reasons this was due to being sent by Emerson to survey the damage of the wreck that killed Margaret Fuller off Long Island. White seems to allude to these terrors, while concluding that, in the end, he became a "salt water man."

Ellen wrote: "Genni wrote: "It also seemed to me he was struggling with memory. What was real and what was not? Like Thomas said, at first the trip seemed to confirm his memories from childhood. But later, the t..."

That is really interesting, Ellen. Thanks for sharing! Now I am wondering how many wet bathing suits he wore as an adult..If he did have such an experience every time, I think I would forego swimming. :-)

Genni wrote: "Ellen wrote: "Genni wrote: "It also seemed to me he was struggling with memory. What was real and what was not? Like Thomas said, at first the trip seemed to confirm his memories from childhood. Bu..."

Genni, I can't stop chuckling. Now, if E.B. told this story, briefly, at a cocktail party, all the men would, at the end, shift in their seats and feel for the "old man." All the women would pretend to cough to disguise their laughter and cover their lips with their fingertips.

I think a good woman editor (was this pre-Katherine?) might have said, "E.B., this is a lovely essay, but the end is incongruous, and believe me, women are going to laugh, spoiling the entire mood."

Ellen wrote: "Genni wrote: "Ellen wrote: "Genni wrote: "It also seemed to me he was struggling with memory. What was real and what was not? Like Thomas said, at first the trip seemed to confirm his memories from..."

Lol! Oh, now I feel bad...just a little bit. :-)

Does anyone know if his father was alive when he wrote this? If he was not, then that would make the transposition he experiences at the beginning even more eerie....